Nighttime Rituals
by Nightfancy
Summary: It was on a night very much like this. He remembered it very well. Perhaps too well. Game 3 spoilers. Layclaire.


**A/N:** _I was nervous about posting this because I wasn't sure if it was an accurate-enough depiction of the Hershel/Claire dynamic. Too late now I suppose. I hope it will suffice. ღ Also, I'd like to reassure you that this isn't what it appears at first glance because first and foremost, Claire is a lady. ;) Please enjoy. ^^_

"Hershel, come here."

Yet still, despite the call, he hesitated in the doorway. Claire giggled from her place at the bed.

"Into the room proper, please," she requested. He inched in far enough to be considered inside the room rather than outside it. Claire laughed. "Now that's hardly proper, but it will have to do," she said as she closed her book and placed it on the end table before standing and making her way over to the very reluctant Hershel.

He seemed absolutely robbed of speech. She clasped each of his hands in hers. "Now come on," she said as she slightly tugged on them. "I'm not suggesting anything untoward—I think you know me better than that, but it's obvious you've had a long, hard, frankly terrible day and I think this will make you feel better."

How she always seemed to know when his days were the out-of-the-ordinary terrible never made any sense. He'd always try his absolute best as a gentleman to never burden her, but she always seemed to know what was going on whether he confided in her or not.

"Nothing…untoward?" he rasped, his mouth suddenly extremely dry—the sight of her in her nightgown was incredibly distracting.

"Nothing untoward," she repeated. "I would tell you what I have in mind, but it will completely spoil the surprise—and I like to surprise you. I promise it's nothing improper, nothing to worry about."

"Al—" he cleared his throat. "Alright." But he still seemed incredibly nervous.

Claire smiled at him again. "I think you're going to feel rather silly for worrying once you figure out what it is—but first what I'd like you to do is change into something more comfortable…preferably your pajamas."

"But I—!"

She touched his cheek and he immediately fell silent. "Hershel. I know. I nicked a pair from your house this afternoon. They're waiting in the bathroom. So change…and then come back."

His mouth was still slightly hanging open when he returned, standing in the doorway like before, looking uncertain as to whether he should be there or not. Claire giggled from her place by the bed again, but this time she was fiddling with her bedside lamp. "Shut the door and could you come stand by the foot of the bed, please?"

Hershel complied with both requests, albeit hesitantly. Claire clamored into bed and once she was comfortable, she said with a small smile, "Now could you get _in_ bed with me?"

When Hershel didn't move immediately and continued to stare at her, a very familiar blush spreading over his face and neck, she turned off the bedside lamp. Now they couldn't see each other at all. "Is this better?" she asked.

Hershel swallowed. "A—A bit."

Claire audibly sighed. "I'm sorry. Perhaps this wasn't one of my better ideas—I had no idea you'd be this nervous and that is the exact opposite of what I was trying to do…"

"No, it's…" he still couldn't get his words out properly as he finally got into the other side of the bed.

"Hershel." Claire reached out and found his arm. "Honestly, this was it. I just wanted to sleep with you tonight. Just sleep, no intercourse. I'm sorry I got you all worried and worked up—"

"No," he said again. "No, I should have trusted you better…"

"Don't beat yourself up," she said firmly as she moved closer to him, wrapping her arms around him. She sighed as she did so. "I've wanted to do this…all day."

"Y—You have?"

"Mm-hmm. Yes. I know the last couple of days have been difficult for you—more especially today—and I thought all day what I could possibly do…and this just seemed to fit."

Even though he couldn't see anyway, Hershel closed his eyes against the pain. Earlier that day he had been informed that his mother had died unexpectedly. It was inevitable, he knew, as she had been getting on in her years, but it still came as a very huge shock. It was nice to know she had peacefully slipped away, but the shock of the unexpected loss shook him to the core, only evident now in the slight tremor of his fingertips—and not by their close proximity.

"You are such a…loving, incredibly giving woman," he said once he could finally speak again, his voice full of emotion. "I—"

But Claire shushed him. "Shh, we can talk more in the morning if you wish, but right now, I think you should just try to sleep. And I'll be right here if you need me, alright?"

Hershel said nothing, but Claire could feel the tears in her hair as he pulled her closer and buried his face into the crook of her neck. She responded by stroking the back of his head. "Shh…just sleep, Hershel. Just sleep."

.∆.

Now, six months, two weeks, and three days later, night seems to have come far too soon. Hershel stands at the foot of his own bed. But no one calls him in.


End file.
